


Sangfroid

by kaitain



Category: Dune Series - Frank Herbert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitain/pseuds/kaitain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(originally written july 6, 2011. edited for improvement.)<br/>He does not want her body or her mind or her powers, but her anguish and her pain. That is all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sangfroid

**Author's Note:**

> piter de vries kind of really needs to get a hobby. preferably one that isn't murdering/poisoning/brutalizing people. maybe scrapbooking would be good
> 
> at this point in time, more than 2 years after actually writing, this **no longer** reflects the full extent of my thoughts on piter's characterization -- really, i'm not partial to him being overly attached to jessica at all; his weird predilection toward her is much more complex. i definitely don't think he's attracted to her at all and i think that his obsession is actually chiefly with leto (she is a symbol of leto's power; the duchy is the only thing piter "lusts" after). 
> 
> SO, i've done some editing here if only to better reflect what i think is better characterization. the writing isn't much, but i'm keeping it up for posterity since it was actually sort of salvageable -- and also because it's one of the first dune things i wrote wayyyy back in like, 2011. wow. it's been a while, man.

With no small trace of foreboding, he envisions her hands, those soft, lily-white hands, laced around his throat — squeezing, tightening, choking — and his brow furrows in consternation. He does not want her body or her mind or her powers, but her anguish and her pain. That is all. He wants to bask in it, to watch her formidable training bend and waver and finally break beneath the power that he wields, and perhaps — _perhaps_ — if he is so inclined, to taunt her with the notion of regaining control, if only for one agonizing, torturous moment.

And then his own training takes over again, Mentat mind smothering such wanton delusions, and he snaps back into reality, admitting — if only to himself — that it is silly and dangerous, and certainly must never become reality. Quashing the ridiculous thought, he curses his stupidity, that burning reverie that is slowly and steadily and _viciously_ blossoming into a glaring weakness.

But within an instant he again begins to succumb to it, stumbling back into that treachery in the back of his mind once more. He struggles with himself for a moment and fights it yet again, startling it back into submission, for he has allowed himself long enough to stew in these trivial fantasies. He takes a breath. His mind races, then calms, and it is all over in a fraction of a second; the only evidence of his internal struggle is a twitch, a tiny clench of the jaw, and then — nothing. Once again, his mask is fitted back into place.

Reassured at last that his acumen has been renewed, he returns to his work with a deft flourish of his blade. The splatter of fresh, hot blood that graces his skin is a welcome coolant.


End file.
